


your voice, i think it lingers still

by crispytins



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Burger King - Freeform, Christmas, Light Angst, M/M, Modern Setting, Post-Finale, if i’m going to be real with you, resurrected arthur, this started out as a shitpost, until it wasn’t
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispytins/pseuds/crispytins
Summary: “You’ll learn to enjoy this new world, I think.”“You have too much faith in me,” Arthur responded gently. His fingers passed through the pages, skimming past Merlin’s careful lettering. “I’m quite stubborn.”A rare smile broke through Merlin’s lips. “I know.”—(Or, in other words: Arthur returns in time for Christmas. Merlin takes him to Burger King. The rest, really, is history.)
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 196





	your voice, i think it lingers still

**Author's Note:**

> this is for all of the lovely people i’ve gotten to meet in the merlin fanbase. thank you for your endless support; have a happy holiday. <3

Arthur knew the dark well. 

He knew its cold embrace, the chilling arms that held him tight in the watery depths of Avalon. It held him fast the moment the wooden slats of his funeral boat broke, when the fire lost its flame and let him tumble into the deep. 

_Look at him,_ naiads jeered softly, lips twisted with mirth. _Look now at how death has claimed the Once and Future King._

Long, chilling fingers dug into his chainmail stained with blood, his matted hair and searing skin. Spirits dragged him below, past shoals of surface fish and the bones of men, until the gaping mouth of the spirit world swallowed him whole. 

_Stay with me_ , Arthur heard faintly. He could not place the speaker’s voice from under the water, or bring any names to his mind. But he’d lift a phantom finger to his own cheeks and feel tears fall. 

Every day and night, the same plea.

_Stay with me,_ someone screamed, for what seemed to be an eternity. 

_Come back to me._

Arthur, in time, would find that he could not reply. 

—

The name Merlin crossed his mind often. 

In his every waking thought, Arthur felt his touch, heard the sound of his voice. 

His smile, Arthur recalled, was like the sun. 

It was not long before he forgot what it looked like. 

—-

Arthur wasn’t sure how much time has gone by, but he felt a part of him dislodge underneath Avalon. 

Nights seemed to melt into days. He missed the stars, the sun, the sky. Broken memories of people he had known in a life long since past were present every time he shut his eyes. 

There was a kindly woman with long, curling locks of brown hair. Another with a cruel mouth, death etched in her every feature. A troupe of laughing knights in shining red and gold. 

A man with eyes the color of a midnight storm. 

_They are all gone,_ the naiads told him. _All but one._

_—-_

  
  


The day that the lake released Arthur, it rained. 

His head bobbed above the surface as he took a breath, inhaling and exhaling freshwater into his lungs. Sagging clouds filled the sky, cloaking everything they touched in grey shadow. 

A man in a red scarf crashed into the water to meet him. 

His face was old and drawn, but there was something achingly familiar in his eyes. 

Blue, like the skies after a midnight storm. 

Arthur recognized them in an instant. 

Merlin’s name left his lips, in a broken, pleading question. 

His name was shouted in return, joyous and bright, and a familiar body collided with his, tumbling them both into the icy recesses of the lake. 

But it was strange. For Arthur could not recall feeling warmer. 

\--

Merlin led him into a small cottage by the shoreline, hands fastened firmly around Arthur’s arm. 

His eyes kept on trailing down to his waterlogged chainmail. At one point, he stopped and raised his hand to rest on Arthur’s chest. 

It trailed below the rusted armor, feeling for a hole in the chains. There was none. 

“There’s no wound,” he whispered incredulously. 

“No,” Arthur told him. His mind stung with the memory of naiads and druidic spirits making him whole again. Stitching him back together, like a rag doll instead of a king. 

When Arthur spoke again, his voice was hollow. “There is nothing there.” 

—

Arthur found that Merlin’s cottage really was only meant to accommodate one person. 

One scarf. One pair of extra shoes. One sofa. 

One bedroom. 

“You can take my bed for the time being,” Merlin insisted. “I don’t mind.” The full bed would be just enough to fit Arthur, and sleeping somewhere else was honestly the least of his concerns. 

Arthur was having none of it. “Where else is there to sleep? The floor?” 

“Well,” Merlin mumbled, “there’s a chair in the kitchen I could use, it’s just - “

“Ridiculous,” Arthur said. He lay down, looking to his side and the space left. 

“If you don’t mind, you can rest beside me.” 

Merlin stared at him. “Are you sure it’s okay?” 

Arthur shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?” They had slept side by side many times before, during long journeys and in the bellies of chilling woods. 

Surely a bed with space in between would be nothing to complain about it. 

So Merlin clambered into the bed beside him, pulling the sheets and blankets over them. They faced the opposite walls, but the comfort sought in no longer being alone was a welcoming gift. 

\-- 

Arthur slept fitfully for three days. 

He slipped in and out of consciousness, likening the whole ordeal to being in Avalon all over again. 

The only difference was that when he opened his eyes, there was no more phantom Merlin. 

A very real, very solid warlock regarded him worriedly, mopping Arthur’s brow and mumbling words that made his eyes whirl like stars. 

Every letter curled and curved like flowers creeping towards sunlight, and filled Arthur’s head with a lovely, lovely warmth. His body felt like his own again, and memories grew brighter. 

Healing charms, Merlin had called them. 

At first, Arthur was sure that it was just another dream. 

But Merlin’s hands were soft against his skin. 

The lake had been brash and bruising. 

On the fourth morning, Arthur woke to find Merlin sitting beside him, readjusting his blankets. 

“Hey,” Arthur murmured. 

“Hey yourself,” Merlin said with a small smile. “Go back to sleep.” 

His eyes flashed gold, and Arthur dreamt once more. 

\--

Arthur found that his warlock still talked quite a lot.

He found that, just as he had in a life past, he did not mind so much. 

Merlin was here now, whispering warm, petal soft words beside Arthur while he slumbered, thinking the king would not hear. 

He’d tell Arthur of their many adventures, and occasions where Merlin had used magic. _For you, Arthur, always for you._

Arthur never let on that he heard sometimes; he only shut his eyes and evened his breaths as to hear Merlin’s gentle tones. 

\--

When Arthur fully recovered, he sat beside Merlin’s window, gazing unblinkingly at the town outside. 

Feathery snowflakes coated the windowpane, and frost held firmly in the wooden corners. 

He could faintly smell fire in the air, and hear singing in the streets. People were celebrating a holiday, but of which name he wasn’t entirely sure. He opted to guess.

“Is it...Yuletide right now?” Arthur asked, pulling a blanket tighter across his body. 

“Yes.” Merlin stirred a cup of tea slowly. “Technically it’s called Christmas now. It’s still a tradition in modern Albion.” 

_Christmas. Tradition. Albion._ The words fell like glass shards over the king. 

“Hmm.” Arthur’s eyes followed the path of green and red lights that decorated the street corners, where foreign machines rumbled past and the snow ran gray and wet. It bore no resemblance at all to the rich decor of the palace halls, the feasts and banquets held where noblemen and servants alike danced in the evenings. “It doesn’t feel as such.” 

The warlock wore a sad smile. “The spirit and sentiment remains the same, my Lord.” 

_My Lord._

“You don’t have to call me that anymore,” Arthur said suddenly, hands wringing. “That title isn’t mine to bear.” 

“Of course it is. They didn’t call you the Once and Future King for nothing.” Merlin held his shoulder firmly, thumb pressing into his shoulder blades. “Even if Albion has a new ruler now, your legacy is stamped in their history.” 

Snow continued to fall outside. Arthur could see pinpricks of pink and cream light shy from the clouds. 

“It is but the truth, Arthur. I am bound to you, in both friendship and duty.”

Destiny, some old crone before had called it. A fate of the likes that no one had ever seen before.   
  


It was meant to be a burden, he knew. But Merlin was by his side now. And in Arthur’s mind, this was a win in itself.   
  


He almost dared destiny to try him now.

\-- 

A week passed. Arthur had confined himself to the warmth of Merlin’s study, losing himself in thick, hulking books that Merlin had said explained how the world had changed. 

“It is different,” the warlock had remarked, placing a journal into Arthur’s hands. It had a wonderfully gilded spine, with feathery tawny pages and a leather bound cover. Merlin’s own name was embossed in golden on the front as the author, underneath the inked title of _HISTORY._

“You’ll learn to enjoy this new world, I think.” 

“You have too much faith in me,” Arthur responded gently. His fingers passed through the pages, skimming past Merlin’s careful lettering. “I’m quite stubborn.” 

A rare smile broke through Merlin’s lips. “I know.” 

He turned to leave before casting Arthur one final glance. “Just give it some time.” 

Arthur scoffed as the door clicked shut before glaring down at the book. 

At first, he was quite sure in his resolve that he couldn’t enjoy anything that wasn’t from his golden age. Nothing could replace his old values and innovations. 

He was, for a few days, obstinately loyal to his roots. 

But then Arthur reached the chapters about metal machines and industry, and he found it hard to resist the siren call of the modern world.   
  


He’d tell Merlin of cars and trucks, their mechanics and electricity, and feel proud under Merlin’s mildly pensive look of approval. He’d watch Merlin cook, take pictures on a shining metal rectangle called a phone.

The modern world, actually, could be a lot worse.

\-- 

There was a breaking of an unspoken rift now that Arthur was returned. 

During the reign of Camelot, servants and nobles were not to show each other physical affection. The gripping of a hand or shoulder for a brief moment or two would suffice enough to convey a thousand words. 

But times had changed. 

If Arthur saw that Merlin looked too pensive in his readings, he would pull him into his chest, pressing gentle circles into his muscles. 

If Merlin noticed that Arthur seemed shaken, he would entwine their fingers together until he could breathe again. 

Times had changed. It seemed easier, suddenly, to display the care that had been so restrained thousands of years before. Words flowed out easier than before.   
  


Grief had allayed itself and allowed a soothing balm to fill in the crevices of time lost.

\--

The morning of Christmas Day arrived. 

Merlin was taking him to eat something called a burger.

Arthur had wrinkled his nose at the name, commenting that it sounded like a disease. 

_It’s not_ , Merlin had insisted, eyes crinkling. _You’ll love it._

With care, he bundled Arthur up in one of his many coats, pulled a knit hat over his ears, and handed him a pair of gloves. 

They stepped out into the cold, snow drifting down in soft flurries. Arthur said that the snow looked the same as it had in Camelot. Merlin laughed at that, and proceeded to offer his hand. 

Arthur took it without hesitation. 

As more of an afterthought, Arthur found himself walking through what must’ve been a dream. But Arthur knew he wasn’t quite clever enough to conjure up the creations of the twenty first century, so he deigned to believe it all reality. 

_See, that’s a pub_ , Merlin pointed out a squat building. _Like the one Gwaine would frequent._ Then a taxi cab, a park. 

And, _oh look, a pigeon! Not for hunting or sport, they just like to hang about. Say hi, Arthur._

All of it was terribly mesmerizing, from the smallest things that Merlin took as normalcy that Arthur was seeing now with, in the most literal sense, new eyes. Every new discovery seemed to fill the void that Avalon had carved into his gut, scooping out everything old, and filling it in with new. 

Arthur couldn’t get enough of it. He continued down the sidewalks as if in a trance, fingers entwined with Merlin’s while listening to his happy ramblings. 

They stopped at last in front of a strange building with a crown in the front. The name was written in a loud bubbly font. 

“Burger King,” Arthur read out loud, faintly puzzled. 

“That’s it,” Merlin said with a nod, pushing the door open. 

A wave of smells hit Arthur all at once: baked bread, grease, cooking meat. The dizzying presence of other people crammed into one place, all clamoring for different orders in a worryingly long line didn’t make means any easier to navigate. 

Unbelievably bright tables lit up the interior, and for some reason, a small stack of what looked like crowns occupied a table near the windows. 

A brief spark of indignation lit Arthur’s chest. “So does this _food_ get to bear my title in my absence?” 

There was barely concealed amusement in Merlin’s gaze. “It’s not quite that simple,” he said. “Although, that would be funny if it were so. Technically, this food holds more power than _you_ do right now.” 

“You’re enjoying this!” Arthur accused. 

“Never.” But Merlin smiled, and Arthur decided at once that it was much better than his normal frown. “I’d never take any pleasures in your losses, my Lord.” 

Merlin ordered their food from a man with green hair. When he went to pick it up, it arrived back to their booth in a brown bag that smelled heavenly. 

He unwrapped a small burger parcel from within, handing it to Arthur. While Arthur consumed what might have very well been the most delicious and nauseating thing he had ever tasted, Merlin rose from their table, walking over to another one close by. 

On it was a single paper crown that he took with deft fingers. 

“So, I had a thought.” Merlin sat back down, eyeing the crown in front of them. “I know that it isn't your crown, by any means, but...doesn’t it kind of look like it?” 

Arthur swallowed the rest of his burger. 

In the instance of being forced to admit it, he couldn’t deny it; there was an inexplicable resemblance to his crown during his reign as king and this flimsy excuse of a knock off. Sure it was a great deal simpler, and more brightly colored, and made of _paper._

But if Arthur squinted his eyes, he could almost see it. 

“It does,” he said in dull awe. “This Burger King didn’t make a half shoddy crown.” 

“It’s not a ki - never mind.” 

With that, Merlin lifted the crown, glancing between it and Arthur. 

He raised an eyebrow in question. 

“Wait,” Arthur said, “do you want _me to wear it?”_

“It would be such an _honor_ ,” Merlin insisted, wide smile breaking free. “Surely you miss your crown upon your head?” 

“I guess,” Arthur grumbled distastefully. “You know how uncomfortable it was.” 

  
“Here, just sit still, would you?” Always the petulant child, even in rebirth. Arthur met his gaze, the warmth in his curled grin proving to be just enough to sate his annoyance and settle the clench in his jaw. 

He loosened his shoulders, amused at the century-old feel of Merlin brushing down his shoulders, running up and down the length of his jacket with the solemn gaze of a servant boy serving his king. 

“Honestly, Merlin,” Arthur grumbled, “I didn’t think that you were one for theatrics.” 

“Well, after a thousand years or so, you pick up a few things.” Merlin turned to their small booth table and picked up the crown. 

He stared at it a moment before balancing it in his hands. The paper crown rested lightly between Merlin’s fanned fingertips, and with a reverence that Arthur honestly hadn’t expected, was placed upon his head. 

Merlin inspected his work, fingers settling upon his king’s cheekbone before letting them fall to his shoulders. 

“Oh my god,” he whispered. 

For a moment, it felt as though nothing had changed. For a second, it was as if they were still master and servant in Camelot. Because as ridiculous as Arthur looked, as bewildered he was at Merlin’s widened gaze, he looked almost like himself again. 

_Almost_. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said, grasping his hand tightly, “Merlin?” 

  
  


“Oh my god,” Merlin repeated, taking out his phone and taking a picture. He swiped right, showing the screen to Arthur. 

Arthur made an offended sound. “I never looked like that!” he protested, jaw dropping as Merlin’s laughter rang beside him. 

“Seriously, just look at it! My hair is peeking out from the bottom, and I look like a complete buffoon!” 

“So then nothing has changed,” Merlin replied cheekily. “My point has been proven.” 

“Absolutely has _not_ been!” 

“Color suits you, Sire.” 

“Well, I’m _very glad_ you think so, Merlin.” But there was no bite in Arthur’s voice. He made no move to remove the crown, and only adjusted it to make it seem a bit straighter. 

(To his credit, he somehow made it worse, but Merlin wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.) 

Arthur rested his arms on the booth, shaking his head as he remained oblivious to the smirking passerby at his paper crown. 

“This is as kingly as I’m going to get, isn’t it?” 

Merlin hummed, tilting his head to the side. “Do you want the honest answer?” 

“No,” Arthur said miserably, leaning into Merlin’s shoulder. “I am left with nothing but a paper crown. I never thought I’d sink this low.” 

“Oh, come now.” Merlin poked his shoulder and met his gaze. “What about me?” 

There was a moment of silence between them. Merlin thought dimly that maybe he shouldn’t have even asked. 

Then, Arthur smiled, paper crown and all. 

“Couldn’t get rid of you, even if I tried.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come chill w/ me on twitter :) [@hawthorias]


End file.
